Rated T for some potentially triggering self harm.
The wind whipped her coat around her. A slight rain drizzled down on her face. Her love's pleads echoed in her ears.
"Please, Belle. I'm afraid."
The words repeated themselves over and over. She gripped the knife's hilt tightly, until the pain was all she felt. She turned away from the spray- painted line.
"Please, Belle. I'm afraid."
She stumbled forward, into the ditch along the road. She bent over, her knees crashing to the muddy ground. Her breath came fast and furious, her chest heaving. Bile stung her throat, and she got sick in the bushes.
Tears spilled over her cheeks, splashing onto the grass. She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, and shakily rose to her feet, using a small tree for support.
Gods, what had she done? Where would she go? What would she do? Did she make a mistake?
Taking a deep breath to steady herself, she made herself move forward. She needed to make a plan.
She couldn't go home. She couldn't go to the shop. No, that would hurt too much.
One foot in front of the other. She walked through the woods, only half sure she knew where she was going.
Right, left. Right, left. Breathe in, breathe out. Breathe in, breathe out.
She reached a wrought- iron fence that marked the boundary of the woods. She grabbed it, the cold seeping into her skin, reaching for her heart. She followed the fence, her hands trailing along the bars, to the gate and let herself in. She cut through the overgrown grass to her destination.
Beloved Son. Neal Cassidy.
She collapsed on the ground at the foot of his grave, where it seemed like yesterday she threw a handful of dirt over his casket. She leaned her forehead against the concrete tomb, the coolness soothing her fevered head, but doing nothing for her broken heart.
"Oh, Bae..." Her voice came out in a weary whisper, as if all her strength had dissipated into the misty air. "I wish you were here."
Her fingers ghosted over the letters of his name. "I know you'd say I did the right thing. That I'm a hero." Fresh tears escaped from the corner of her eyes. "I saved Emma. That's what you would say. I saved her, your True Love."
She pulled her knees to her chest, and sobbed, "But what about my True Love, Bae? What about my happy ending?"
She lost it then, sobbing like a child whose toy was taking away. Her vision turned gray, and she was gasping. She couldn't remember the last time she cried like this. She didn't even cry this hard when Rumple stabbed himself to save the town. She dug her fingernails into her thighs at the thought, leaving bloody half moons in her wake.
It seemed like she cried for hours repeating Rumple's last words to her. "I'm afraid. I'm afraid. I'm afraid."
Finally her tears slowed enough to allow her to form coherent thoughts. She wiped away the moisture on her cheeks, and sat up. "You're lucky you're in there," her voice was angry now. "Being dead has to be better than this."
She closed her eyes, blocking out her step-son's gravestone. She could practically feel his judgement seeping through the ground. "I used to think that too. It's just a broken heart right? At least you can feel something.
But now I understand why... Why people would voluntarily remove their hearts. The pain is unbearable, Bae. I can feel my heart shattering. The veins and threads and walls of my heart have been ripped apart." She took a deep breath. "I don't know if I can feel any happiness ever again."
She opened her eyes, looking at the dagger in her hand. She traced her fingers along it's edges, daring it to draw blood. But it didn't.
"All these people in this town will be happy. But not me." She clenched the blade in her palm, the sharp pain making her mind clear. "I don't think I'll ever be happy again."
She let the blood trickle down her fingers, leaving a sticky mess on her hand. "Everyone keeps leaving me. My mother. My father. You. Him."
"What am I supposed to do now? How am I supposed to move on? I don't think I can." She leaned her head against his gravestone. "I don't even know who I am anymore. Am I even the same person, Bae? Because the Belle I used to be would never give up on him. She would have followed him to the ends of the Earth. But who is this Belle?"
She looked around her, at the ghosts of better people than she. "Who is this broken Belle? Who is this Belle with a broken mind and a broken heart? Because it's not the same Belle. I'm not the same Belle."
She curled up on her side beside his grave, wrapping her coat tighter around her. "I still love him. And I cast him away. With no protection, not even his cane. Does that make me a monster? He could die tonight. Does that make me the same as him?"
She breathed deeply, her eyes drying, her eyelids heavy. "I'll be hailed as a hero when I get back. I saved the town from the 'Evil Rumplestiltskin'. But I'm not. I possibly killed someone. That makes me a villain." She closed her eyes, exhaustion creeping in. "And Villains don't get happy endings."
Fatigue stole her words away, but not her thoughts.
I'm afraid. I'm afraid. I'm afraid.